


Don't Let The Days Go By

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, F/F, F/M, endgame bellarke, with a special guest appearance by Clexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rules:</p><p>Sex (new conquest): five points.</p><p> </p><p>Make out (new conquest): three points.</p><p> </p><p>Threesome: ten points.</p><p> </p><p>Sex (repeat): three points (void if actual relationship occurs)</p><p> </p><p>Make out (repeat): two points (ditto)</p><p> </p><p>Person with the most points on 12/31/15 wins $200 and the undying respect of the loser.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke signed her name with a flourish and slapped the napkin down in front of Bellamy.  “Hope you’ve got $200 saved,” she taunted.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy tipped his rum and coke toward her.  “My only problem is going to be spending all of your money.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_December 31st, 2014._

_Clarke: 0  Bellamy: 0_

 

Sex (new conquest): five points.

 

Make out (new conquest): three points.

 

Threesome: ten points.

 

Sex (repeat): three points (void if actual relationship occurs)

 

Make out (repeat): two points (ditto)

 

Person with the most points on 12/31/15 wins $200 and the undying respect of the loser.

 

_Bellamy Blake                  Clarke Griffin_

_12/31/14                       12/31/14_

 

Clarke signed her name with a flourish and slapped the napkin down in front of Bellamy.  “Hope you’ve got $200 saved,” she taunted.

 

Bellamy tipped his rum and coke toward her.  “My only problem is going to be spending all of your money.”

 

Clarke rolled her eyes and scanned the crowded bar.  “We need a referee.  Someone impartial.  Hey!  Raven!”  She signaled to their friend who fought her way back to their table.

 

“What now?” Raven shouted over the music.

 

“We need your help.  Bellamy and I have a bet, and— ” Clarke started sliding the napkin toward Raven, but she shook her head and backed away.  

 

“Nope.  Nope-nope-nope.  Not getting involved.”

 

“But you don’t even know what it’s about,” Clarke whined.

 

“Don’t care.  I’m not getting involved in whatever creepy hypercompetitive foreplay you two have designed this time.”

 

Clarke made a face and Bellamy downed the rest of his drink.  “It’s not foreplay,” she argued.

 

“It really is,” Raven countered.  “So no.  Whatever this is, count me out.”  Clarke stuck her tongue out but Raven ignored her and elbowed her way back towards Wick.

 

Clarke swirled her gin and tonic and used that as an excuse not to make eye contact.  Things always got weird whenever their friends accused them of flirting, mostly because none of them knew about that night two years ago.  “Think we can handle this on our own?”

 

“Scout’s honor,” Bellamy replied with a mocking salute.  “When does this start?”

 

“Right now.  You’ll need every second of the next 365 days to beat me,” Clarke teased.

 

“You wish.  But if you’ll excuse me, princess, I have a bet to win.”  Bellamy hopped off the chair and made eye contact with a striking brunette, and with the tiniest of winks toward Clarke he headed off in her direction.  Clarke sighed and tipped back her gin and tonic, wincing slightly as the ice cubes crashed into her teeth.

 

There was no way she was going to lose this bet.

 

***

 

_January 1, 2015_

_Clarke: 3  Bellamy: 3_

 

“So what the fuck was going on with you two last night?” Murphy asked, a little too loudly in Clarke’s opinion.  Her head was threatening to split open and even the dull rumble of the diner was too much.

 

“What do you mean?” Bellamy grumbled, slurping down coffee like his life depended on it.  If his hangover was anywhere near as bad as Clarke’s, it probably did.

 

“You guys basically ditched us to play pick-up artist.”

 

“That’s offensive,” Clarke muttered.

 

“But true,” Murphy replied.  “If pointless, since you both went home alone.”

 

Bellamy glanced at her out of the corner of his eye for her approval and set his mug down with a thump.  “We have a bet going.”

 

“Of course you do,” Murphy snarked.  “What is it this time?”

 

“Person with the most hookups by next New Year’s wins $200,” Clarke explained.  Down the table, Raven scoffed audibly.  In the light of day it did seem pretty crass, but in the dark, crowded bar, three drinks in, it seemed hilarious.  They were the most promiscuous of their friends and the most competitive, so it seemed natural to combine them.  She wasn’t sure if it was the leftover alcohol or the bet making her stomach churn.

 

“Isn’t that unfair?” Jasper interjected.  “Clarke has like, twice the amount of options.”

 

Clarke and Bellamy simultaneously shot him withering looks.  “Nothing’s stopping him from hooking up with guys,” she said sharply.

 

Miller sighed and set down his fork.  “Okay, what are the terms?”

 

“Why are you encouraging this?” Raven argued.  “If they want to be gross, let them be gross alone.”

 

“Because I have a feeling we’re going to be dealing with this for the next twelve months and I’d like to have some parameters,” he replied.

 

“Five points for sex with a new person, three for kissing a new person.  Three for sex with someone you’ve already been with before, and ten for a threesome,” Clarke explained, nudging her gooey eggs with her knife.  Either she was going to puke or she was hungrier than she’d ever been.  She settled for drinking some ice water.

 

“Ten for a threesome with two girls, or either kind?” Jasper asked.

 

“Either kind,” Bellamy said around a mouthful of waffles.

 

Jasper’s eyes got big.  “Shouldn’t Bellamy get double points for a devil’s threesome?”

 

Again, they both glared at him and he quailed.  “A threesome is ten points,” Bellamy said firmly.  “Person with the most points at next New Year’s Eve wins.”

 

“I want it on the record that I think this is a terrible fucking idea,” Raven said.

 

“Me too,” Monty added.

 

“Noted.”  Bellamy picked up his coffee and toasted Clarke.  “May the best person win.”

 

***

_January 9th, 2015_

_Clarke: 3 Bellamy: 3_

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:13pm_

_Lets go troll the bars for some ladiezzzz_

_Bellamy Blake_

_9:14pm_

_Why is it when you decide you want to hook up with a woman you somehow become a bigger bro than Murphy?_

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:14pm_

_Fuck you_

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:14pm_

_Also you did not answer my question.  Bars?_

_Bellamy Blake_

_9:14pm_

_Technically you never asked a question; you issued a command._

_Bellamy Blake_

_9:15pm_

_But fine.  Grounders in fifteen?_

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:15pm_

_Be there in ten._

 

Clarke already had started in on her gin and tonic when Bellamy slid onto the stool next to her and accepted his whiskey and coke.  “You’re buying,” he informed her.  

 

“You’re such a fucking mooch.”

 

“No, I’m a poor grad student and you’re a woman of means.  And you asked me to come out, so you’re paying,” he replied.

 

Clarke rolled her eyes and sighed with mock aggravation even though she had already planned on paying.  “Fine.  But in exchange you have to be my wingman tonight.”

 

“Why, don’t think you can beat me without assistance?”

 

“Please.  I can beat you without even trying.  Just thought it would be a good chance for you to talk to her straight friends,” Clarke said, indicating a group of women congregating to their left.

 

“Which one are you talking about?”

 

“Short one in the middle.  Braids.”

 

“And you’re sure she’d be interested in female attention?”

 

“Very sure.  Which one do you want?”

 

Bellamy made a disgusted face at her.  “You make me sound sketchy when you put it like that.”

 

Clarke grinned.  “That’s because you are.  Which one?  The blonde, maybe?”

 

“Not really my type.”

 

“Right, should’ve guessed.  The tall brunette in the back?”

 

“Christ, what is she, twelve?  How did she even get in here?”

 

“Fine,” Clarke scowled.  “You don’t have to like any of them.  Will you still wingman for me?”

 

Bellamy agreed, but within three minutes Clarke could tell she was barking up the wrong tree.  The woman with the braids— Monroe, she’d said— was way more interested in Bellamy’s dissertation topic than anything Clarke had to say.  Clarke ended up talking to the brunette (Fox was 22 so okay, maybe Bellamy was right that she was a little young for him) and Harper (Bellamy was really missing out with his whole “no blondes” stance) and an hour later she practically had to peel him away from Monroe who was enthusiastically explaining how to build a trebuchet.

 

“Bad luck, Griffin,” Bellamy said, draping his arm over her shoulder as they left the bar.

 

“How was I supposed to know she had a girlfriend who’s out of town this weekend?”

 

“Fair enough.  I’m still going to kick your ass though.”

 

“Really?  Because you put forth, like, zero effort tonight,” she said, elbowing him in the side.

 

“Zero effort and I still got a number from the bartender,” he said with a sly grin.

 

“What?  No.  You’re fucking kidding me.”

 

Bellamy pulled out his phone to display the number and wiggled his eyebrows at her.  “See?  Told you.  I’m going to wipe the floor with you.”

 

Clarke elbowed him again and laughed, and his arm stayed over her shoulders the whole walk home.

 

 

***

_February 14th, 2015._

_Clarke: 7  Bellamy: 10_

 

“I’m up another three points,” Clarke announced as Bellamy let her into his apartment.

 

Bellamy dutifully added three more ticks to her side of the scoreboard, bringing them to an even ten-to-ten.  “Can I ask who?”

 

“Drummer from that band Jasper likes.  The one with the biceps.”  Clarke opened his fridge and grabbed the first beer she saw.  

 

“Think you’ll see him again?”

 

She shrugged.  “Probably not.  It was a fun night, but...it just wasn’t there.  Anyway, I had brunch with Raven this morning.”

 

“Let me guess— she told you our bet was a bad idea again.”

 

“Bingo.”

 

“She was here yesterday telling me the same thing.”

 

“Think she’s right?”  Clarke took a sip of her beer and slid it across the counter to Bellamy.

 

He took a drink and pushed it back.  “We’re not hurting anyone.  It’s not like we’re rating them publicly, and we’re pretty much just doing what you and I normally do.”

 

“Only now there’s money on it.”

 

Half of his mouth quirked into a smile.  “And a scoreboard.”

 

“We’re terrible people, aren’t we?”

 

Bellamy stole the beer from her hand.  “Probably.”

 

Clarke smiled back, glad that that night two years ago hadn’t damaged their friendship.

 

It wasn’t supposed to happen.  They were just a little drunk and pissed about their exes.  Bellamy had run into Echo in the grocery store that day and Clarke was still smarting from Lexa’s skype-breakup-from-Afghanistan, and one minute they were sitting on his fire escape, yelling about the futility of love, and the next minute she was in his bedroom, licking down the muscles that arrowed to his pelvis.

 

Well, there was a little more too it than that, but that was basically the gist.  Clarke had slipped out after he fell asleep because she was pretty sure someone who had shouted _I’m never going to be in a relationship again_ two hours ago wouldn’t want to deal with the awkward morning after dance, and when she saw him with Raven and Monty two days later he pretended like nothing had happened.

 

They’d never talked about it.

 

Clarke held out her hand and Bellamy gave her the beer back.  “Random question.  Why did you and Echo split?”  The day they had sex was the only time she’d asked him straight out what ended it, but Bellamy hadn’t responded.  He’d just kissed her, and then suddenly Echo seemed very unimportant.

 

“We wanted different things.”  Bellamy went to his fridge and pulled out a beer for himself and cracked it open.

 

“That’s vague.”

 

“That’s the truth.”

 

Clarke frowned at him, because it wasn’t like Bellamy to be evasive.  At least not with her.  There was an openness to their friendship that they didn’t have with the rest of the group, which was why only Bellamy knew that she’d hooked up with Finn long after they were supposed to be over and Clarke was the only one that knew Bellamy had had sex with men before (once during a threesome with Echo, and once in college just because.   _I just don’t tell people because I don't want Jasper’s head to explode,_ he’d explained when he told her.)   

 

She looked at him across the kitchen counter.  “You’re not going to be more specific?”

 

“No.”  There was an unfamiliar edge to his voice that startled her.

 

“Want to watch the movie now?” she asked, suddenly desperate to change the subject.

 

His smile was easy and genuine and Clarke let go of the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.  “Thought you’d never ask,” he said, and they moved to his living room for their usual Valentine’s Day tradition of documentaries and beer.  Octavia called them _old person movies_ and Raven called them _boring as fuck_ , and with most of their friends paired off— except for Murphy, who only sort of counted— they were usually left to their own devices on Valentine’s Day.  For the past six years they’d celebrated together with only two exceptions (Lexa three years ago and Echo the year after that).  Clarke claimed his recliner and he took the couch and when Bellamy shook her awake three hours later, everything was back to normal.

 

***

_March 27th, 2015_

_Clarke: 18   Bellamy: 10_

 

“To Octavia and Lincoln: may you continue to make Bellamy’s life a living hell,” Miller concluded, and raised his glass of champagne toward the happy couple.  Laughter chorused around the table and Octavia placed a delicate kiss on Lincoln’s cheek, her brand new diamond ring sparkling in the light.  

 

“So how did you two meet?” Maya asked Octavia.  Clarke had to admit— she was impressed with Jasper’s new girlfriend.  She was entirely too smart and cute for him, and so far she’d fit in flawlessly with everyone else.

 

Octavia and Lincoln sent identical pointed looks towards Clarke who feigned ignorance.  “Clarke set them up to piss off Bellamy,” Murphy explained.

 

“Not true,” Clarke protested.

 

“It’s a little true,” Miller interjected.

 

Clarke looked at Bellamy, who was sitting to her right with an expectant look on his face.  “Okay, fine.  It was like 20% to piss off Bellamy, but 80% because I knew they’d be great together.”  Bellamy rolled his eyes as Clarke turned back to Maya.  “I met Lincoln through the gallery I work at and set them up because if there’s someone who can handle a ballerina-slash-cop, it’s an MMA fighter-slash-artist,” she clarified.  “Anyway, who’s ready for ice cream cake?”

 

Cheers erupted as Clarke stood to head into her kitchen.  “I’ll help!” Maya chirped.  Clarke had been chosen to host the engagement dinner on account of having the biggest apartment, but Bellamy had been over since three since Clarke wasn’t the world’s worst cook, but it was usually better if Bellamy handled that and she just cleaned and ran out for ice cream cake.

 

Maya grabbed the plates and Clarke pulled the Fudgie the Whale cake from her freezer.  “So how long have you guys been together?” Maya asked conversationally.

 

“Hmm?”  Clarke was busy scanning her countertops for a clean knife and it took her brain a second to catch up.  “How long has who been together?”

 

“You and Bellamy.”  Maya found the forks on her third try just as Clarke located the knife.

 

“What?  Oh, we’re not.  We’re— ” Clarke hesitated, caught off-guard.

 

Maya furrowed her brow.  “Oh, sorry— you’re not?  I thought Jasper said— I mean, the way he talks about you guys, he always talks about you two like you’re a package deal.  And he calls you Mom and Dad.”  She cocked her head, her dark curls spilling over her shoulder.  “And didn’t he answer your door?”

 

“He was helping me set up.”  Clarke focused a little more intently on cutting the cake than was strictly necessary. “And Jasper calls us Mom and Dad because we’re usually telling him what to do.”

 

She could practically feel Maya raising her eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything else for which Clarke was very grateful.  She should be used to this by now, since nearly every new significant other in their group had made that assumption at one point or another, and servers at restaurants almost always automatically put them on the same tab.  But it sat uneasily on her shoulders for some reason, and she spent most of dessert asking Murphy about the girl in sales he had a crush on, completely ignoring Bellamy.

 

“So what the hell was that about?” Bellamy asked the second Lincoln and Octavia left, leaving them alone in her apartment.

 

“What the hell was what?”

 

“What happened in the kitchen?  You came back with Maya and it was like I didn’t even exist.”

 

Clarke shrugged, annoyed that he’d noticed.  “It was nothing.”

 

Bellamy crossed his arms.  “Try again.”

 

“I said it was nothing, okay?  Maya was under the impression we were together and I had to correct her, and it was awkward, okay?”

 

“That happens all the time,” Bellamy pointed out.  “What’s the big deal?”

 

“Nothing, okay?  Sorry if I blew you off.”  Clarke tried to sound sincere but her voice was cold and clipped to her ears.

 

“Whatever,” Bellamy muttered and started collecting dishes from the table.

 

Normally, Clarke looked forward to cleaning up after a party with Bellamy.  There was something comforting and familiar about their rapport and they’d done it often enough that they were like a well-oiled machine.  But that night Bellamy just grunted in response to her chatter and pretty soon she gave up talking entirely and they cleaned her kitchen in silence.

 

“I’m gonna go now.  You got this?” Bellamy said, pulling his coat off a hook.

 

Clarke tied off the garbage bag and didn’t look up.  “Yeah, it’s fine.  See you.”

 

“Bye.”  Bellamy shut the door behind him without another word, leaving Clarke feeling oddly hollow.

 

She dragged the garbage down the hall to the chute, regret bubbling in her stomach until she couldn’t take it any more.  She left the bag on the floor and took off down the steps and out onto the sidewalk, ignoring the cold drizzle that spattered her cheeks and bare arms.  “Bellamy!” she yelled after him as he approached his car.

 

He turned with a frown on his face and crossed his arms.  “What the hell are you doing out here dressed like this?  You’ll catch a cold.”

 

“I will not.”

 

“Will too.”

 

“You’re not the one who was almost a doctor.”

 

“One semester of med school does not make you almost a doctor,” he argued, but a ghost of a smile played on his lips.

 

“I’m more of a doctor than you.  But hey— I’m sorry if I got weird, okay?”

 

Bellamy’s eyes softened.  “I’m sorry too.”

 

Clarke wrapped her arms around his waist and he hugged her back, his body warm and familiar.  “Everything okay?”

 

“We’re good, princess.  Now go back inside before you freeze to death,” he fussed.

 

Clarke rolled her eyes but did as he said, and not even her neighbor Indra’s glare and sour _garbage goes down the chute, not next to it_ could wipe the smile off her face.

 

***

_April 17, 2015_

_Clarke: 18  Bellamy: 18_

 

Bellamy opened his door with a look of confusion.  “Did we have plans?”

 

“Nope.  Just bored,” Clarke said and brushed past him into his place, which was...clean.  Well, it was always clean.  But the stacks of books and papers that usually took up his kitchen table and coffee table (and end table, if he was swamped) were nowhere in sight.  “Expecting company?”

 

Bellamy ran his fingers through his damp curls and looked uncomfortable.  “Um, yeah, actually.”

 

Clarke looked at him— really looked— and took in his dark jeans and button down.  She knew this outfit.  She’d seen him in it a hundred times in the past few years.

 

It was his date outfit.

 

For some reason, that realization deflated her.  “Oh, sorry.  Who is this one?”

 

“The girl from the philosophy department.  The one I…”

 

“The one you banged last week,” Clarke finished.  “I remember.  I thought that was just a one time thing?”

 

Bellamy shrugged.  “Two times, actually.”  He grinned and Clarke remembered the texts she’d gotten over the last week.   _I’m up to fifteen_ , he said on Saturday, and then _make that eighteen on Tuesday_.  Clarke chuckled to herself when she got them, but suddenly it didn’t seem quite so funny.  “Anyway, she’s cool.  So I invited her over,” Bellamy continued.

 

“Right.  Netflix and chill, huh?”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

An awkward silence swelled between them.  “Then I guess I’ll have to go troll the bars on my own,” she said brightly.  “Gotta get my lead back.”  She ducked out of his apartment before he could say much more than goodbye.

 

Clarke shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and marched down his stairs, barrelling into someone in the process.  “Whoops, sorry,” a female voice said and Clarke’s head snapped up.  About eight feet tall, long brown hair— yeah, this was definitely Bellamy’s philosopher.  Clarke liked to joke that her type was “breathing,” but Bellamy almost exclusively dated women that were tall, willowy, and dark.   _The exact opposite of me_.

 

“That’s on me; should have been watching where I was going,” Clarke apologized and hurried off.

 

 _God, I need a drink_ , she thought to herself, and headed into Grounders to do just that.

 

The next morning, Clarke awoke with a heavy arm stretched across her.  The arm’s owner was breathing slowly against her neck and she dredged her memories of the night before.   _S-something.  Stanford?  No.  Sterling.  That’s it.  Sterling-the-rock-climbing-instructor_.  Bellamy would roll his eyes at that ( _get a real job_ , he’d scoff) but he didn’t need to know Sterling’s occupation, just the new score.  She slipped out from under Sterling’s arm and started searching for her underwear.  “You going?” he mumbled, his eyes barely open.

 

“Yeah.  Early meeting,” she lied.

 

“Mmmkay.”  He rolled over on his side, clearly more interested in sleeping than walking her to his door.  Which was fine by her, because she remembered him being pretty but not terribly interesting.  

 

The bus chugged through the pale early morning light and Clarke fished her phone out of her purse.

_Clarke Griffin_

_8:12am_

_+5 for me.  Eat that._

 

She was sitting cross legged in her studio two hours later, staring at a blank canvas, when her phone finally trilled in response.

 

_Bellamy Blake_

_10:35am_

_That makes us 21 to 23._

_Bellamy Blake_

_10:35am_

_But I’m definitely going to take the lead from you some time this week.  ;)_

 

Clarke glared at her phone like it had personally offended her, and decided she wasn’t going to think about it (or him, or him and _her_ ) anymore.  This bet was supposed to be fun, but lately all it was doing was pissing her off.  She flicked her phone to silent and turned her attention back to the canvas.

 

***

_June 6th, 2015_

_Clarke: 23   Bellamy: 27_

Clarke barely even looked over her shoulder when she heard Bellamy walk into her studio.

 

“Where is everyone?” he asked.

 

“Raven’s at Wick’s family cabin, Monty and Miller are being lame, Murphy has that new girlfriend he’s too scared to introduce to us, Jasper and Maya had a birthday party for one of her friends, and…”

 

“...O and Lincoln are scouting wedding locations this weekend,” Bellamy finished.  “So it’s just us.”

 

“Yup.”  Clarke added a few more splatters of red and stepped back from the canvas.

 

Bellamy stood just behind her and crossed his arms.  “What’s this one called?  It feels...angry.”

 

“Annoyance.”

 

“Annoyance, or Annoyed-with-someone?” he asked with a snort.

 

“Well, I don’t think anyone would buy a painting called ‘Bellamy Blake is a Massive Pain in the Ass,’ so yeah, just Annoyance.”

 

“I’d buy it,” he said, and when she looked back at him he was grinning.  She found herself grinning back and for the first time in weeks, she felt light.  “What did you want to do tonight?”

 

“They’re doing fireworks down at the pier for...something, I forget what, so...rooftop?”

 

“I’ll get the beer,” Clarke said, and five minutes later they were sitting in the oversized lounge chairs her building kept on the roof with beers in their hands.  “So what happened with philosophy girl?” Clarke asked as the distant pops of fireworks echoed back to them.  She had barely seen Bellamy in the past six weeks aside from a handful of times, always with their friends.  In fact, she hadn’t been alone with him since she accidentally almost crashed his hook up.  

 

Bellamy made a noncommittal noise.  “There wasn’t much there.  We moved on.  Do you have any updates for the scoreboard?”

 

“Not recently,” she admitted.  “You?”

 

“Nothing since Roma.  The end of the semester was kind of a clusterfuck.”

 

“And not the good kind I take it?” she teased.

 

He snorted into his beer.  “No.  Not the good kind.”  They fell silent and watched the fireworks explode a few miles away.  

 

“Think you’ll ever want an actual relationship again?”  It had been nagging at Clarke since that night.  She had thought Bellamy was like her— happy with being single, happy with someone different every weekend.  But something about how he had acted about Roma made her wonder if he was actually looking for something more.  

 

Bellamy shrugged one shoulder.  “Maybe.  At some point.  You?”

 

“No.”  It came out a little harsher than she intended, but it felt like the truth.

 

“Lexa really fucked you up, didn’t she?”  

 

Now it was her turn to shrug.  “I think she just helped me realize who I am.”

 

“And that is?”

 

“Someone who makes a bet with her best friend about who can sleep with the most people in a year?”

 

Bellamy grinned.  “You mean someone who’s going to lose that bet?”

 

“Never.  I’ll fuck more people than you if it kills me,” Clarke volleyed back.  He chuckled and leaned back in the chair as the fireworks hit their finale.

 

“Hey, we’re okay, right?”  Bellamy asked, concern creasing his brow.

 

“We are.  Sorry I’ve been a little MIA lately, I’ve just been working a lot.”  It wasn’t the whole truth— Clarke was finding herself making excuses more and more often when Bellamy texted— but it was part of it.  The gallery was trying to get an up and coming artist to show with them and Clarke had been working like crazy to get it off the ground.

 

“Good.  I’ve missed you, you know.”

 

“I’ve missed you too,” Clarke admitted.  Bellamy’s forearm brushed against hers every time he lifted his beer bottle to his lips and at the end of the night, he hugged her so tightly that for a few minutes, she felt like herself again.

 

***

_July 17th, 2015_

_Clarke: 23  Bellamy 27_

 

Clarke’s heels were killing her.  Literally killing her— she would die if she had to stand in these stupid high heels for another minute, but she still had a six block walk back to her apartment.  For the first time, she wished she lived a little farther from work because she would give anything to be able to drive home instead of walk.  She flipped the light switch and set the alarm code, pulling the door shut firmly.  It had been a successful opening and Clarke was proud of herself for convincing the artist to show with them, but right now all she cared about was getting home and getting her goddamn shoes off.

 

She had just finished locking the door behind her when footsteps made her jump and drop the keys.  “Jesus, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Bellamy said.  “I just thought you’d want some company on your walk home.”

 

“I can take care of myself,” Clarke protested.

 

“And I’m well aware of that.  But I said you might want company, not protection.  If I’m not wanted…?”

 

“God, you’re such a drama queen.  Of course I’d like some company.”  Things were back to normal between them, even if they had both sort of dropped their competition.  That was highly unusual for them (something Miller, Murphy, and Raven all pointed out) but Clarke didn’t mind if it meant having her best friend back.  Somehow, that stupid bet had made anonymous sex with strangers less fun, because she knew he was having it too, and, well, she had a possessive streak when it came to her friends.  They were spending more time together again, and it was good; easy.  Like how it used to be.

 

Maybe with a few more unconscious touches than before, but they were just both affectionate people.  Nothing weird about him wrapping an arm around her shoulder and rubbing circles onto her bare skin with his thumb at Miller and Monty’s Fourth of July barbeque— they were just two friends finding their footing again after an awkward few months.

 

Bellamy fell into step beside her but within half a block he drew to a stop.  “Why the hell are you wearing those?” he asked with a pointed look at her spiked heels.

 

“Because they make my legs look great.”

 

“You were at work.”

 

“And my legs don’t deserve to look good at work?”

 

“Well, you can hardly walk right now, so maybe not.  I thought you were going to trash those after last year’s gala.”

 

“I was.  But I changed my mind because seriously, have you seen my legs in these?”

 

Bellamy’s eyes flickered up and down her body and she suppressed a shiver.  He heaved a mock sigh and turned around, crouching down.  “Fine.”

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

“Do you want a piggy back ride or not?” he asked over his shoulder.  “Because this is a one-time offer.”

 

Clarke laughed happily and shimmied her skirt up a little higher around her thighs so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

 

She hopped onto his back and his hands automatically came to rest just above her knees.  She locked her arms around him and giggled at the way she bounced when he walked.  Her chin was near his ear and his curls tickled her cheek.  “You really going to give me a piggy back ride all six blocks home?”

 

She could feel the muscles moving in his back as he walked, and her chest vibrated when he cleared his throat.  “That’s the plan.”  He stopped and hitched her a little higher.  “I’ve got plenty of practice.  O used to want piggy back rides all day when she was little.”

 

“Somehow, I think this is a little different.”  The words were out before she could stop herself and suddenly, her heart was hammering in her ears.

 

Bellamy’s grip on her legs tightened and he cleared his throat again.  “I think you’re right.”  His hands felt like they were branding her, burning into the thin skin behind her knees.  Memories of the last time he’d touched her there flashed behind her eyes, his eyes dark and hooded as he pushed her legs apart so he could draw her clit into his mouth.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to slow her pounding heart, but all that did was fill her lungs with his scent and remind her of how it felt to be above him, rolling her hips as his hands caged her waist and his chest heaved with want.

 

She couldn’t speak, even if she wanted to.  Bellamy stayed quiet too, and he carried her home with nothing more than the sound of passing cars and their own labored breathing to break the silence.

 

Clarke’s building loomed in front of them and Bellamy stopped to let her slip off his back.  She winced as her feet met the concrete and she stepped out of her shoes, dangling them from her fingers as she pulled her dress back down around her thighs.  Bellamy watched her wordlessly and she fussed unnecessarily with her hem, because looking at him was suddenly difficult.

 

It was too much.  She dug around in her purse for her keys for an excuse to avoid his eyes, even though she could feel them burning into her.  “Thanks for the ride,” she said with a cheerfulness that rang false in her ears.  “I’ve got it from here.”

 

“Clarke— ”

 

“Good night, Bellamy,” she said firmly, because she was worried she knew exactly what he was going to say and she wasn’t sure she could handle it.

 

Bellamy swallowed hard and when she finally looked at him, a muscle was fluttering in his jaw.  “Good night,” he muttered, and waited silently until she was inside her building before melting back into the darkness.

 

***

_August 3rd, 2015_

_Clarke: 23   Bellamy: 27_

 

“Clarke?”

 

Clarke’s heart stopped— literally stopped, and she didn’t think that could actually happen— at the sound of Lexa’s voice.  It had been two years since Lexa unilaterally decided that they couldn’t handle long distance anymore and ended things, leaving Clarke to look like the dick that broke up with her girlfriend while she was deployed.  Clarke turned away from the barista and found herself face-to-face with the woman that broke her heart, looking every bit as beautiful as the day they met.

 

“Lexa,” she managed and hoped the other woman didn’t see the way her hands shook.  “You look...you look good.”

 

“So do you,” Lexa said with a soft smile.  “You in a hurry?”

 

“Actually yeah,” she lied.  “Have to meet a client at the gallery.”

 

Lexa’s face fell and Clarke’s stupid fucking heart fell with it.  “Okay, well, I’ll see you around?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Clarke replied and rushed out, not able to handle another minute with her.

 

That evening, Clarke’s armpits got sweaty and her hands clammy as she reread Lexa’s text for the fifteenth time that day.  She should hate Lexa for how she ended things, but she didn’t and that was the problem.  

 

_Lexa Woods_

_3:34pm_

_I understand if you never want to see me again, but on the off chance you don’t hate me, I’d love to meet you for coffee some time and catch up._

 

Clarke took a shaky breath and typed out her response.

 

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:24pm_

_Coffee sounds good.  Does Saturday work?_

_Lexa Woods_

_9:24pm_

_It works great!  5pm at the place we ran into each other?_

Clarke polished off her glass of wine before responding.

 

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:29pm_

_See you then._

 

On the one hand, Lexa broke her heart.

 

On the other hand, Clarke never really felt like things were done between them.  It was like a dangling thread in her life— a what if that she wanted to figure out.

 

What if Lexa hadn’t been deployed?  Would they have made it?

 

What if Clarke hadn’t just agreed when Lexa decided they were done?  Would they still be together, or would things have fallen apart anyway?

 

***

_August 7th, 2015  
_

_Clarke: 23   Bellamy: 27_

 

She texted Bellamy on Friday morning to see if he wanted to watch a movie that night because she desperately needed a distraction, but it took him longer than usual to reply and when he did, he just said he had plans.

 

 _Plans_.

 

Clarke could read between the lines— he was going to get laid.  Which was fine, and actually the whole point of their bet was to encourage each other to get laid regularly, because sex was fun and so was flirting, but now the thought of Bellamy with some random woman made her stomach curdle.  She spent the night painting and told herself that the pit in her stomach was because she was nervous about seeing Lexa and nothing else.

 

She mostly believed it.

 

Lexa was waiting for her when she arrived at the coffee shop, fidgeting with her napkin and glancing anxiously at the door, but when she caught sight of Clarke her mask slipped into place, betraying nothing. That was something she had both loved and hated about Lexa— the way she gave nothing away, even when there was so much more going on below the surface.  “Hey there,” Lexa said and stood up.  They shared an awkward hug and Clarke smiled nervously as they sat down.  “I’m glad you came,” Lexa started.  “I wasn’t sure you would.”

 

“I wasn’t sure I would,” Clarke admitted.

 

“That’s fair.”  Lexa ducked her head and looked up at Clarke through her thick lashes.  “How are you?  You said you’re still at the gallery?”

 

“Yeah.  And painting more now too.”

 

“Good.  That’s good.”  An awkward silence fell and Lexa took a sip of coffee.

 

“Are you still a Corporal?”  

 

“Staff Sergeant, actually.”

 

“Congrats,” Clarke said, and the awkward silence returned.  The military had been a difficult subject for them towards the end, after all.

 

“I wanted to apologize.  For how I ended things.”

 

Clarke wished she’d gone to the counter and ordered something so she would have something to hold in her hands.  Instead she just balled them into fists under the table to stop them from shaking.  “Just diving right in, huh?”

 

“There’s no point in beating around the bush.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry if I hurt you— I never meant to.”

 

“But you did.”

 

“I did.  And I’m sorry, Clarke.  I’ve regretted it ever since.”

 

Clarke blinked back her tears.  “I know.  I’ve always wondered— ”

 

“—what would have happened if I hadn’t panicked?”

 

“That’s what it was?  Panic?” Clarke asked.

 

Lexa dropped her eyes to the table.  “Mostly.  I was over there and suddenly I felt like you’d never understand what it was like, and you have your friends and I never really fit with them, and it was like I looked into our future and saw...not nothing, but not much good.  And I loved you, Clarke, I did.  I just panicked, and I’m sorry.”

 

Clarke looked at her— the woman who broke her heart, the woman she once loved, and knew she was telling the truth.

 

***

_August 28th, 2015_

_Clarke: 26  Bellamy: 27_

 

Clarke spotted Raven waving to her outside of the theater and hurried over.  “Hey stranger,” Raven teased.  “Where have you been lately?”  Clarke shuffled her feet awkwardly, because for the last month she had barely left Lexa’s apartment.

 

In fact, she’d barely left Lexa’s bed except to go to work.  They were still in the sex-and-takeout stage of a new relationship and she had been dodging her friends’ texts ever since Lexa kissed her outside the coffee shop.  It wasn’t fair to them, but Lexa had a point— she never really fit with Clarke’s friends.  But this weekend Lexa had an exercise with her platoon so for once Clarke had accepted Raven’s offer of a movie and then drinks with the gang.

 

Clarke glanced around the group and realized she was the last to arrive, which made now as good a time as any to come clean.  “I, um, ran into Lexa earlier this month.”

 

Raven arched an eyebrow and everyone else stopped talking to turn and listen.  “And how does that explain near radio silence from you?” she asked sharply.

 

Clarke took a deep breath.  “We’re— we’re sort of back together.”

 

The effect was instantaneous.  She was prepared for surprise and concern, and maybe even anger from her friends, but she wasn’t prepared for Raven, Octavia, Miller, Jasper, and Murphy to simultaneously gasp and snap their heads towards Bellamy while Lincoln and Monty exchanged sad looks.  “We’re taking it slow, okay?  And things are different now,” Clarke protested.  She had anticipated them not being completely on board, but not this.

 

“Different how?”  That muscle was fluttering in Bellamy’s jaw as he bit out his question.

 

Raven glanced between them.  “Okay kids, we’re gonna go in now,” she announced.  “We’ll save you guys seats, okay?”

 

Jasper looked confused. “But— ”

 

“Inside,” she ordered, and Jasper’s mouth snapped shut.  Everyone filed into the theater and left Clarke and Bellamy on the broiling sidewalk.

 

Clarke had never seen him this angry.  “You didn’t answer my question.  What’s different this time?”  he asked.  Every muscle in his body seemed tense and he radiated anger.  

 

It pissed her off. “Her.  Me.  Everything,” Clarke snapped.  

 

“I thought you were done with that.”

 

“With what?”

 

“Relationships,” he growled.  “Never again, you told me.”

 

His accusation felt like a slap.  “I changed my mind.  And it’s not like last time.”  She didn’t want to admit it, but for the past few months something inside of her had been craving...more.  And Lexa was offering more.

 

“Yeah?  You know for a fact she’s not going to cut and run next time things get even a little bit tough?”

 

“That’s not why we ended,” she argued.  It was uncomfortably close to the truth, but Bellamy didn’t get to tell her what to do.  She’d thought he felt… well, it didn’t matter what she thought.  He didn’t get to control her life.  “It was the distance last time, that was all.  Besides, she’s almost done with the Army.”  

 

The first time, Clarke and Lexa practically had a countdown to October 2015.  Clarke had mentally circled her calendar, desperately wanting to be a normal couple without the threat of deployment hanging over their heads, but then Lexa got sent overseas and everything went to shit.  She hadn’t brought it up with Lexa yet because she didn’t want to push things too far, too fast.  But it was almost over and that was why she knew they could make it this time.

 

Bellamy just glared at her, his hands clenched into fists at his side.  “So you’re going to do this all again.”

 

“No.  I just told you— things are different now.  She’s different, I’m different, our circumstances are...you know what?  Why am I justifying this to you?  It’s my life.”  

 

“It is.”  Bellamy’s voice dropped to a dangerous tone.  “But I’m not going to be in it.  Not if you’re with her again.  You and me?  We’re done.”

 

“Fine.  But that’s your decision, not mine.”

 

“Fine.”  Bellamy marched off without another word.  Clarke sent a quick text to Raven— _never mind, not in the mood for a movie_ — and went home.

 

She cried herself to sleep that night and didn’t tell a soul.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will earn that E rating in the second half, I swear.
> 
> (Title from Glycerine by Bush).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said: the E rating is now warranted.

 

_September 12, 2015_

~~Clarke: 26  Bellamy: 27~~

 

“Hey, where’s your mascara?” Clarke yelled as she rooted through Lexa’s makeup.

 

“Second drawer.  Should be a few in there,” Lexa said.  She joined Clarke in the bathroom and fished around for lipgloss.  

 

“God, why did I ever bother with guys?  They never let you borrow their makeup.”  Clarke added another coat to her lashes and stepped back.  Lexa was pursing her lips and fussing with her hair.  To anyone else she would have looked stoic, but Clarke could see the nerves written all over her face.  “Hey, don’t worry.  They’ll warm up to you,” Clarke said and wrapped her arms around Lexa from behind.  She rested her chin on her girlfriend’s shoulder and smiled at their reflection.  “And it’s Monty and Miller’s place so they’ll keep everyone in line.”

 

Lexa bit her lower lip.  “Even Bellamy?”

 

Clarke let go and plucked at a few stray hairs on her shirt.  “Bellamy’s not coming.”

 

Something in her voice must have betrayed her anger because Lexa turned and rested her hip against the counter.  “He’s not?  Because of me?”

 

“No, because of me.  We had a fight.”

 

“About me.”  

 

There was something pointed about her tone that Clarke didn’t like, but she ignored it.  “Kind of.  He doesn’t forgive easily and I was sort of a wreck when we broke up.  I told him things were different, but he got pissed and we had a fight.  We’re not really speaking right now.”

 

“You’re not speaking with Bellamy?  Because you’re with me?”

 

“It’s more complicated than that.  Things with him and me...we’ve been a little off lately.  The fight was a long time coming.”

 

“But you didn’t have it until you were with me.”  There it was again— that tone.  Like they were talking about two different things.

 

“Yeah, but it wasn’t about you.  It was about...other stuff,” Clarke explained lamely.  

 

“Other stuff.  Like what?”

 

“Like nothing, okay?  We just...we fought.  Things have been tense and we fought, and yeah, you were the subject but it wasn’t because of you.”

 

Lexa cast a critical eye in her direction.  “You two were always so inseparable.  I was sort of jealous when we first got together.”

 

“Of me and Bellamy?  We’re just friends.  Or we were.  I don’t know if we’re friends anymore, but you never had anything to worry about with him.”  Clarke’s palms were getting sweaty and she didn’t like the way Lexa kept looking at her— like she wasn’t telling the truth.  She was.  They used to be friends and now they weren’t and it was for more reasons than just Lexa.

 

Although Lexa was probably better off not knowing the specific reasons and Clarke’s suspicions about them.

 

Lexa turned back to the mirror and fiddled with a piece of hair that had fallen from her braid.  “You and your friends— I don’t think you guys know how intimidating you all are, especially all at once.”

 

“I know,” Clarke agreed, relieved that Lexa was changing the subject.

 

“Do they all hate me?”  Lexa wrapped her arms around her waist, looking small and unsure, and it tugged on Clarke’s heartstrings.

 

“Of course not.”  She pulled Lexa into a tight hug.  “They might be a little stiff at first, but you can handle that.  They don’t hate you, we’re just an overprotective bunch.  They’ll come around, I promise.  And besides, things are different, you know?  It’s almost over.”

 

Lexa stiffened in her arms.  “What’s almost over?” she asked, stepping back.

 

“Your enlistment.  October 2015?”

 

Lexa worried her lower lip again.  “No.”

 

“Wait, what?  I thought...we always talked about when you’d get out, and it was next month.”

 

“And that was true.  Then.”

 

“Then?”

 

“I re-upped, Clarke.  Last year.”

 

“How— how long?”  Blood was roaring in her ears and her hands were shaking.

 

“Six years.”

 

“Six years?”  The words were like a blow to her chest.   _Six. Years._  “Why?”

 

“They need me.”  Lexa’s mask went up, that blank facade she used when things were about to get bad.  It had hurt Clarke before and it hurt her now.

 

“They need you?  The US military.  Needs you.  Specifically.”

 

“They do.  I don’t expect you to understand.  You didn’t before,” Lexa snapped.  “It’s my duty.  It’s where I belong.”

 

“But you’re here for it, right?  At least as far as you know?  We can do that.  Can’t we?”

 

Lexa wouldn’t meet her eyes and Clarke was sure her heart had stopped completely.  “I’m going to South Korea, Clarke.  For two years.”

 

Clarke sank down on the edge of the tub, because this could not be happening again.  “When?  When do you leave?”

 

“October 26th.”  Lexa’s voice was tiny and broken.

 

“And were you ever going to tell me?”  Anger started to replace disbelief and it leaked into her tone.  “Or were you just going to fucking leave?”

 

“I wanted to Clarke, you have to believe me.  But things were so new, and after how it ended last time…”

 

“How you ended things last time,” Clarke interjected.  “Don’t act like we just spontaneously fell apart.  You broke up with me.”

 

Lexa swallowed thickly.  “Okay, I deserved that.  After how I ended things last time, I didn’t want to bring it up so soon.  I thought we could figure things out a little and get on a better footing, and then we could handle it.”

 

“So I would what, wait for you?  For two years?  Wondering if every damn time you call you’re going to end things because I just can’t understand?”  Tears spilled from her eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her hand.  “How could you?  I trusted you.   I trusted you, and you lied to my face.”

 

“I didn’t lie— ” Lexa started but Clarke shook her head and pushed past her, out of the bathroom and through Lexa’s bedroom.  “Clarke, please.  Wait.  We can talk about this, we can— ”

 

“We can’t,” Clarke replied, her voice shaky.  “We can’t do this again.  I can’t.  I’m sorry, I really am, but I can’t do this.”  She stuffed her feet into her boots and stormed out, Lexa’s pleas still ringing in her ears.

 

_Clarke Griffin_

_7:22pm_

_Sorry but we’re not gonna make it_

_Monty Green_

_7:23pm_

_:(  That sucks.  Everything ok?_

_Clarke Griffin_

_7:23pm_

_Not really.  We’re done.  For good this time._

_Monty Green_

_7:23pm_

_:( :( I’m sorry.  Want some company?_

_Clarke Griffin_

_7:24pm_

_No, enjoy your party.  I’d rather just be alone._

  
  
  
***

_October 26th, 2015_

~~Clarke: 26  Bellamy: 27~~

 

Clarke stood in front of Bellamy’s door and considered running away even though she had already knocked.  Bellamy had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her anymore and here she was, ignoring his wishes because she was sad and wanted to talk to him.

 

It wasn’t that her other friends weren’t there for her.  Monty showed up the day after she ended things with Lexa with a giant box of donuts and watched six straight hours of _House Hunters International_ to keep her mind off things, and Raven had been stopping by her apartment periodically to make sure she was functioning.  And she was-- in fact, most days she went about her life like nothing had changed because really, nothing had.  But every so often she wanted to bury herself under a pile of blankets and never come out so Raven and Monty's check-ins helped.  Octavia hadn’t acknowledged her presence since the fight with Bellamy at the movie theater, but Lincoln texted every few days to let her know he was thinking of her.  Clarke appreciated their efforts; she really, really did.

 

But they weren’t Bellamy.  

 

She had just decided to leave when the door in front of her opened.  Bellamy stared at her, his jaw tight, and took in her slightly-greasy hair, oversized cardigan, and paint-stained leggings.  “She left today, didn’t she?”

 

Clarke nodded, her chin trembling, and Bellamy sighed.  He held his arms out and she stepped into his embrace without another thought.  His scent enveloped her and for the first time all day, she felt like she might make it through.  Bellamy reached out and blindly shoved the door closed without letting go of her.  He buried his face in her hair and she felt his lungs expand as he inhaled.  “You deserve better,” he murmured in her ear.

 

Tears slipped down her cheeks and she let him steer her to the living room.  She curled against him on the couch, her head resting on his chest.  “You heard what happened?” she asked after several long moments had passed.

 

“I got the gist.  She re-upped and didn’t mention the whole two-years-in-Korea thing when you got back together.”

 

“That’s basically it.  You were right about her.”

 

Bellamy fell silent for a long time, his fingers fiddling with the ends of her hair.  “I wish I wasn’t,” he said finally.

 

Clarke shrugged as best she could with his arm around her.  “I guess now I know though.  That things weren’t different.  It was us.  Me.”  Her voice wavered and Bellamy lifted her chin so she was looking into his eyes.

 

“Don’t say that.”  

 

It hurt to look at him, so Clarke twisted away and wiped at the tears that kept falling.  “It’s true though.  I won’t be enough for her.  Ever.”  Bellamy’s jaw clenched again but he didn’t say anything, only shifted her so her legs were draped across his lap.  He brushed away her tears with his thumbs and she looked down, laughing weakly.  “God, I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

 

A tiny smile played at the corner of his lips.  “You’ve looked better.”

 

Clarke laughed again, stronger this time.  “That was when you were supposed to say ‘no, you look great.’”

 

“You trying to make me a liar?”  His smile made her heart curl in on itself and he tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear.

 

And then time stopped.

 

Clarke’s vision narrowed and her heart beat faster.  Bellamy’s eyes dropped to her lips and his hand stayed cradling her jaw.  She liked how she felt in his arms— treasured and protected and strong all at once, so she tipped her head forward and captured his lips with hers.  After a heartbeat he responded, bringing his other hand up to her cheek and deepening the kiss.  The rest of the world faded out and she forgot how heavy her heart had been for the past few weeks.  She forgot Lexa, and the army, and the weeks of not speaking to Bellamy.

 

But then he pulled away, his dark eyes gleaming.  “Clarke, I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry— ”

 

Clarke silenced him with a finger against his lips.  “I know what I’m doing.”  She kissed him again, more urgently this time, and once again he responded, running his tongue along the seam of her mouth before wrenching himself away.

 

His thumb skated across her still-damp cheek and he swallowed hard.  “What— what do you want?”

 

“You,” she said simply.  This time he was the one to kiss her, so rough and sweet that Clarke felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.  She tangled her hands in his hair and when his lips moved to her jaw she let her head fall back and lost herself in him.  He sucked on her pulse point and she whimpered when he drew back to look her in the eyes again.

 

She could see the question in them.  “This isn’t about her.  Fuck me.  Please,” she whispered, and his hand curled around the nape of her neck to bring her back to him, his doubts forgotten.  She fisted her hands in the soft flannel collar of his shirt and sucked his lower lip into her mouth, smiling triumphantly at his groan.  He knotted his fingers in her hair and tilted her head to the side, burning a path down her throat with his lips.  He nosed aside her collar and grazed his teeth across her clavicle, making her whimper with need.

 

Bellamy hooked his arm under her knees and stood up with her in in his arms.  He carried her, bridal style, down his dark hallway and into his bedroom.  He let her feet down and dropped to his knees before her, his hands braced on her hips.  Clarke shrugged out of her cardigan as he nuzzled her stomach and she knitted her fingers in his hair and urged him to stand.   Clarke started working the buttons on his shirt, trailing her finger down his chest and across his abdomen.  His shuddering breath made her give him a reassuring smile that he tentatively returned while she pushed his shirt off his shoulders.  He worked his hands under the hem of her shirt, his fingers tickling her ribs, and cool air skated across her bare skin when he pulled up over her head.   That was quickly replaced by his skin, so hot it felt like fire made flesh.  Clarke arched her neck to kiss him and twisted her arms around to unhook her bra at the same time, her heart so full it was a wonder she could breathe.  He had a few days of stubble that rasped against her soft skin, marking her neck and shoulder as he moved down her body with his mouth.

 

Bellamy pushed her back against the mattress with a wolfish grin.  She raised her hips when he hooked his fingers into her leggings and underwear and peeled them down her legs.  When he knelt in front of her she pushed herself up on her elbows and let him arrange her legs over his shoulders, her gaze never leaving his.  His back was smooth and hot under her skin and he nuzzled her inner thighs, working his way slowly to her center.  

 

The moment his tongue touched her clit she grabbed at the sheets for purchase and sank her teeth into her lower lip.  Bellamy’s eyes darted back to hers, burning into her as he set her nerves on fire.  His tongue danced across her folds, teasing her entrance until she groaned in frustration.  He smirked and thrust his tongue inside of her, his thumb pressed against her clit with delicious pressure.  Clarke’s elbows gave out and she flopped back against the bed, giving herself over to the sensations threatening to overwhelm her.  His lips and tongue and fingers kept moving, urging her towards her peak but then backing off, keeping it tantalizingly out of reach.  Her fingers wove into his soft curls just as he flicked his tongue delicately across her clit and she shattered.

 

Bellamy had shed the rest of his clothes and was rearranging her floppy limbs on his bed when she returned to herself, a proud grin plastered across his face.  Clarke couldn’t help but smile back and twine her arms around his neck for a long, languid kiss.  She could taste herself and him at the same time, a potent combination that shot straight to her core.  She ran her hand across his chest and marveled at the contrast— Bellamy was hard planes and smooth muscles everywhere she touched, so different from Lexa’s luscious curves, but his heart was all softness where Lexa’s was iron.  But then he shifted and she could feel him hard against her hip and all thoughts of Lexa fled from her mind.

 

She pushed him into his back and crouched over him, nipping at the muscles that arrowed towards his hips, wrenching gasps from his mouth that sounded like music to her ears.  She curled her hand around his cock and stroked lightly, tracing the vein on the underside of his shaft with her finger.  Bellamy started mumbling curses, the harsh words totally at odds with the gentle way his hand cupped her cheek.  Clarke laved her tongue across the tip, teasing him the way he had tormented her, lapping at him until she felt him twitch with need.  She took pity on him then and engulfed his cock with her mouth, keeping her hand at the base.  Clarke took him in as far as she could and started bobbing her head, his salt taste heavy on her tongue.  She rubbed her thighs together, already aching for his touch once more.

 

Clarke wanted to keep going but Bellamy tugged her up to him, his hands skating up and down her spine.  She rolled to her back and let him settle into the cradle of her hips while he reached out to fish a condom from his nightstand.  He put it on in a practiced movement and braced his arms beside her head.  Clarke reached down and helped guide him to her entrance but once he pressed the tip of his cock inside her she brought her hands up to his face, pulling him down so she could kiss him as he entered her fully.

 

Once again, time seemed to slow to a stop.  Nothing else existed but his chest against hers, his breath fanning across her cheek, his eyes threatening to drown her.  Clarke ran her nails down his back, marking him as hers.  He dipped his head to her shoulder and sucked hard enough to bruise, returning the favor without stopping the steady pace of his thrusts.  She felt stretched and full and complete, and when he captured her lips for what was possibly their thousandth kiss but would never, ever be enough, she arched her back to bring her hips closer to him because even with him so deep inside of her she needed more.

 

She needed him.

 

Her second peak was softer, but the grind of his pubic bone against her clit was unrelenting and soon it melted into a third, the waves of pleasure blending into each other until he started trembling above her and let himself go with a guttural moan.

 

Bellamy collapsed to her side and tossed the condom into the small trash can near his bed, his arm heavy across her waist.  His thumb swept across her lower ribs, brushing over the winged lion she had tattooed there.  That tattoo was the beginning of their official friendship— before, they had friends in common but mostly kept their distance, but then Clarke announced she was getting a tattoo and Bellamy offered to go and distract her.  Two hours later they were fast friends and Clarke’s life hadn’t been the same since.

 

And it probably wouldn't be the same anymore now, either.

 

Bellamy pushed himself up on an elbow and looked down at her, his deep brown eyes full of concern.  “You okay?” he asked, still skimming his thumb along her ribs.

 

She curved her hand against his cheek and he nuzzled into it, kissing the center of her palm.  “Of course,” she promised him.  It was the truth, because for the first time in months Clarke felt like herself again.  She couldn’t bring herself to think about what this meant for their future, but for the moment her heart was soaring and a smile spread across her face.

 

Bellamy smiled in return and ducked down to kiss her tattoo, quick but tender.  She giggled and squirmed a little when his breath tickled her side, but then he was kissing her again, slowly and thoroughly.   “No sneaking out this time, okay?” he said when he broke the kiss, just a hint of worry on his face.

 

“Okay,” she agreed, and she let him curl his body around hers and drifted off with his heart thudding against her back.

  


***

_October 27th, 2015_

~~Clarke: 29  Bellamy: 30~~

 

Clarke couldn’t breathe.

 

Bellamy’s arm was still draped across her as he slept, unaware of her all-consuming panic.  For the first few moments Clarke had felt nothing but happiness, pure and delicious, but then she realized what she’d done and suddenly her lungs stopped working.  Bellamy’s arm was no longer protective and reassuring; it was smothering her, squashing the air from her ribs and keeping her from drawing a breath.  Her heart started racing and she couldn’t quell her panic, not even when his eyes fluttered open and a sleepy smile crossed his face.  “Morning,” he whispered, raising his hand to brush a few strands of hair off her cheek.  “Did you sleep okay?”

 

Clarke swallowed against her rising anxiety and plastered a smile on her face.  “Yeah.  Slept great.”  That much was true, but now every cell in her body was screaming for her to _run_ , so she wriggled out from under his arm and started searching for her clothes.  

 

“Where’re you going?” Bellamy asked from behind her.  “I thought we said no running away this time.”  The playful note in his voice threatened to shatter her in two.

 

“I’m not running,” she lied.  “I just have to get going.  Meeting a client at the gallery at ten and I should probably shower.”  She kept her back to him as she hooked her bra.

 

“There’s a shower here, you know,” he said, and the playfulness sounded a little more forced.

 

“I know.  But I should get home.”  She found her leggings, stood to shimmy into them, and finally risked a glance over her shoulder.

 

The sadness in his eyes broke her.  “Don’t do this,” he begged.  “Please, don’t run.”

 

“I’m not running.  I just can’t do this now, okay?”

 

“Not now, not two years ago— when, Clarke?  When can you do this?”

 

Clarke wrapped her cardigan around herself like armor.  “I don’t know, okay?  I don’t know if I can.  You and me— this is too much, too soon.  Lexa just left, and—”

 

“You said this had nothing to do with her.”  The sadness in his eyes was gradually being replaced by coldness and she didn’t understand how that could possibly hurt even more than it already did.

 

“It didn’t.  It doesn’t.  But you have to understand—”

 

“Understand what?  You know what we have.  You know what I want,” he spat.

 

“It’s too much,” she repeated, the tears she thought she’d finished with threatening to resurface.  “I can’t.  Not not.”

 

Bellamy sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist.  “Then when?  If you want me to wait, I will.  Just tell me to wait and I will fucking wait, but you have to promise me that time is all you need.  Promise me that and I will wait for two more goddamn years, for as long as you need, but I can’t do this anymore.  I can’t pretend I don’t feel what I feel, and I can’t pretend I don’t see it in your eyes too.”  Clarke gaped at him and he looked away, disgusted.  “If you want to go, then just go.  I won’t stop you.”

 

The defeat in his voice made her ears ring, and like the coward she was she left without another word.

  


***

_November 20th, 2015_

~~Clarke: 29  Bellamy: 30~~

 

“When are your friends getting here?” Abby asked, adjusting Clarke’s necklace to hide the clasp at the back of her neck.

 

“Soon, I think.”

 

Abby plucked an invisible piece of lint off Clarke’s shoulder.  “I saw on the RSVPs that Jasper and Murphy both have dates for tonight.  How did that happen?”

 

Clarke grinned at her mom’s wry tone.  “No idea.  Maya is really nice, but I haven’t met Murphy’s date yet.  I’ll report back if it seems like she needs a lobotomy.”

 

“I’ll put an OR on standby.  Any reason the Blakes can’t make it this year?”  Abby’s would-be casual question didn’t fool Clarke, but she put on a facade of indifference.

 

“Bellamy’s swamped with midterms or something, and I’m not sure about Octavia.  But there’s Raven so I’m going to go say hi, okay?”  Clarke swept away from her mother before she had a chance to press for more details about the Blakes’ absence from the annual Griffin family gala.

 

Before her father died Clarke had loved the annual gala.  She got to pick out an expensive dress, usually far more grown up than her mother typically let her get away with, and for one night of the year she felt like an actual, honest-to-god princess.  Jake would create little scavenger hunts for her to keep her from getting bored and misbehaving, and when she got a little older she spent the gala swiping forgotten champagne flutes and getting drunk with Wells in a deserted stairwell.

 

But the year Jake collapsed at work, dead before the ambulance even arrived, Clarke couldn’t bring herself to face the annual gala.  It was too full of memories of him, and even though her mother tearfully begged for her to come, Clarke didn’t think she could.  But the day of the gala Raven had showed up with a sleek purple dress, shoved her into it, and dragged her to the hotel ballroom where all her friends were waiting, more dressed up than she had ever seen them before.  They buried her in hugs and every year since then, no matter what they had going on, every single one of them came.  Even Murphy.

 

Except this year, apparently.

 

Raven kissed her cheek and Wick gave her a quick hug hello when she made it to their side.  He let out a low whistle and looked around the ballroom, currently packed with every rich person in the tri-state area.  “When Raven said this was the fanciest shindig I’d ever go to, she wasn’t lying.”

 

Raven made a face at him.  “I have never once, in my life, said the word shindig.”

 

“I was being polite, because _fanciest fucking party you’ll ever go_ to was a little crude,” Wick threw back.

 

Raven turned her attention to Clarke and her dark eyes grew serious.  “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine.  She’s been gone for a month.  I’m over it.”

 

“Right.  Because I was asking about Lexa,” Raven muttered.

 

Fortunately for Clarke, Jasper and Maya arrived and she had an excuse to pretend she didn’t hear Raven’s insinuation.  “This is lovely,” Maya said sincerely.  “I get why Jasper calls it Fancy Party.”

 

“It’s gonna be weird without Bellamy though,” Jasper said.  Maya elbowed him in the side but he plowed on, heedless.  “What?  It will be.  It was his idea we all come to this that first time anyway, and—”

 

“I say we all get drinks,” Raven interrupted.

 

“That’s a great plan,” Clarke agreed, waving over Murphy and his date.  “Monty and Miller got here awhile ago, so we can go track them down too.”

 

Five minutes later they were standing in an awkward circle, Bellamy, Octavia, and Lincoln’s absence leaving a glaring hole in the group.  Murphy sucked on his teeth and set down his empty wine glass, looking at Clarke pointedly.  “Alright, if no one else is going to say it, I will,” he said, breaking the silence that was so unlike them.  “You two—” he pointed at Raven and Clarke, “—really need to stop using Bellamy as your break-up dick.”

 

“That was one time,” Raven snapped. “And he was fine with it.  Don’t drag me into it because this has nothing to do with me.”

 

Clarke surveyed her friends, all conspicuously avoiding her gaze.  “So you all know?”

 

“Octavia, uh, filled us in,” Miller said, swirling his whiskey around.

 

“So they hate me.”

 

“Octavia hates you.  Bellamy’s just a fucking mess,” Murphy supplied unhelpfully.  “I think Lincoln still likes you, though.”  His girlfriend was glaring daggers at him but for once Clarke appreciated Murphy’s complete lack of tact.

 

She wasn’t surprised that Bellamy had told Octavia, and she wasn’t too shocked to find out Octavia hated her for it.  The Blakes were fiercely protective of each other, but she’d hoped— well, she didn’t know what she’d hoped.  That somehow the night with Bellamy had never happened?  Or maybe just the morning after.  She didn’t regret leaving, but she should have stayed longer and made him see that she was only running because she wasn’t ready for him.  Not yet.

 

She should have told him to wait like he’d offered, but she wasn’t sure she would ever be who he deserved.  So instead she’d chosen to break his heart— and hers— in the process, something she had regretted the moment she closed his door behind her that morning.

 

She’d texted to apologize, but he never responded and that was that.

 

“So do you all hate me too?”

 

“No,” Raven said firmly.

 

“We agreed we weren’t taking sides,” Monty added.  “We love you both.”

 

Clarke stared into the bottom of her almost-empty champagne flute.  “Well, thanks.  For coming.  And not hating me.”

 

Raven threw an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.  “What Monty said— we love you both, okay?”

 

Clarke forced a smile onto her face that stayed put for the rest of the night.  It hurt to be at the gala without Bellamy, she realized.  She had never noticed how much she looked forward to the evening with him until he wasn’t there to get her more drinks or swoop in and pretend to have someone she just had to meet whenever one of her mother’s colleagues cornered her in a boring-ass conversation.

 

Her friends did their best but the night dragged and she was relieved when they all told her they were headed out, Raven, Maya, and Monty with fierce hugs and Miller, Murphy, and Emori with polite nods.  She had just decided to tell her mother she was leaving when a deep voice sounded behind her.

 

“Look at you, all grown up,” Wells said, and Clarke smiled genuinely for the first time all night.  

 

“You made it!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

 

“Yeah, sorry I’m late.  Nobody told me junior associates have shitty hours.”

 

“Big case?”

 

“Kind of.  Big for the firm but I don’t really give a damn if a bunch of rich old white men get even richer.”  He held up an open champagne bottle and let it dangle from his fingers.  “What do you say— for old time’s sake?”

 

Clarke linked her arm in his and let him lead her to the back stairwell that had been their sanctuary throughout high school and most of college.

 

“For some reason I thought this party would be different after three years,” Wells observed as they settled onto the cold concrete in their black-tie clothes.

 

“Because you assumed that you going away to law school would change the world?”  Clarke snatched the bottle from him and took a long swig.  Longer than strictly necessary, to be honest, but she was past caring.

 

“Clearly.  I saw your friends on the way out— Murphy got a girlfriend?”

 

“Murphy and Jasper both.  The world is ending, I think.”

 

“And where’s Bellamy?  He still here?”

 

Clarke fixated on the contrast between her shiny red shoes and the dull grey stairs.  She’d worn these shoes last year and complained to Bellamy about how much they hurt the entire night.  So much so that when they left he’d thrown her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold _just so you’ll stop bitching_.  “Bellamy didn’t come this year.”  She took another long pull of champagne before releasing it to Wells’ waiting hand.

 

“Ah.  Got it.”

 

“God, what?  I’m so sick of people being cryptic and giving me sideways looks.  Just fucking say it,” she grumbled.

 

“So did he tell you how he felt and you shot him down, or did you finally do something about how you feel and then freaked out and ran?”

 

“The latter.  But I want to know why everyone on the planet is so fucking sure Bellamy is in love with me.”

 

“Because they’ve seen you two together.”  Clarke sent him a withering look but Wells’ face was dead serious.  “I know because I’ve been there, remember?  I know exactly what it feels like to be hopelessly in love with you.  But that’s the one difference between me and Bellamy.”

 

Clarke snorted.  “One difference?  What’s the one thing that sets you two apart?  Because if I remember correctly you guys almost murdered each other the first time you met.”

 

“Fair enough.  But the difference between him and me is I figured out how to get over you.  He never did.”

 

“Wells—”

 

He shook his head.  “Trust me, okay?  I’ve been there, and last year it was so obvious with the way he’d look at you that your mom asked if she should grill him about his intentions.  So by the way, you owe me big for stopping her.”

 

Clarke shuffled her feet and leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees.  “I fucked it up, Wells.  I fucked it up so bad I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.”

 

Wells placed his hand between her shoulderblades consolingly.  “So try.  You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

 

“And what if it’s over?  What if I fucked it up so monumentally that I lose him forever?”

 

“Then we’ll get you really, really drunk.”  Clarke shot Wells a watery smile that he returned.  “For real though.  We’ll get you through it. But first you have to try.”

  
  


***

_December 17th, 2015._

~~Clarke: 29  Bellamy: 30~~

  


Clarke stomped her feet in a vain attempt to get warm and watched students filing out of the building, already bundled up against the snow.  The big, fat flakes had started falling shortly after she left the gallery that evening and already the grass was coated in white.

 

He would probably be pissed at her for showing up on campus, but a) he was already pissed at her and b) he wasn’t responding to her texts.  And this way he wouldn’t be able to pretend he wasn’t home like he did two weeks ago when she pounded on his door and begged for him to talk to her.

 

He was buttoning up his coat when he emerged from the warm yellow light behind him and Clarke stepped into his path, stopping him short.  “Don’t be mad,” she began.  “But I needed to talk to you and you’re doing a stellar impression of a ghost.”

 

Bellamy tugged her over to the edge of the sidewalk and crossed his arms.  “Then talk.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You’ve said that,” he pointed out, referring to her dozens of texts that he had apparently chosen to ignore.

 

“Then here,” she said, and thrust the package she’d been holding into his hands.  “It’s your Christmas gift.  I bought it forever ago and I’m not sure we're still doing presents, but if we can’t fix this, I still want you to be my friend, okay?”

 

Bellamy’s eyes softened and he carefully tore off the snow-dampened wrapping to reveal the book she had bought for him months ago.  Books were their Christmas tradition--non-fiction only, and the more likely to make Octavia or Raven roll their eyes and snark about them being boring, the better.  This time she’d gotten him a biography of Alexander Hamilton he’d mentioned wanting to read for ages.  “Thanks,” he said quietly, and then seemed to look at her for the first time all night.  “How long have you been out here?”

 

Clarke tucked her gloved hands into her armpits.  “Awhile.  Wasn’t sure when your students’ final would end and I didn’t want to miss you.”

 

“You walked?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You must be freezing.”

 

“It’s fine,” she insisted.

 

“It’s cold as balls and you don’t even have a hat.” Bellamy fussed.  He stuffed the book in his messenger bag and unwound his scarf, a maroon one Octavia had knitted for him years ago. She wasn’t a very good knitter and that scarf was the only thing she ever finished, but he’d worn it without fail every winter since.  “You’ll catch a cold,” he said, wrapping the scarf around her neck and face, making sure it covered her ears as much as possible.

 

It smelled like him and tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to sound light.  “I will not.”

 

“Will too.”

 

“You’re not the one who was almost a doctor.”

 

“One semester of med school does not make you almost a doctor,” he replied.  Their familiar banter seemed to affect him too, and he smiled sadly.

 

“I’m more of a doctor than you.”  Her tears stung her cheeks— she couldn’t help it.  She missed him in so many ways.  “Will we ever get the timing right?”

 

For a second it looked like he was about to hug her but instead he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets.  “I don’t know.  I hope so.  I think I just need some time.”

 

Clarke wiped at her cheeks and nodded.  “I can do that.  When you’re ready— for whatever— I’m here.”

 

“Thanks.  And hey— Merry Christmas.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Bellamy,” Clarke said and turned to leave, his scarf still wrapped around her neck.

  
  


***

_December 31st, 2015_

~~Clarke: 29  Bellamy: 30~~

  


At the sound of the knock, Clarke forced herself off the couch and rearranged her blanket into something like a shawl, shuffling across her apartment to the door.  Golden Dragon had told her to expect a 45 minute wait for delivery, but they were a good 30 minutes early.  Apparently, Clarke wasn’t the only person in the city spending New Year’s Eve piled under blankets, alone and depressed.  Raven had begged her to come out with them, but Clarke didn’t want to put Bellamy in that position so she’d refused and was now four hours into a _Friends_  marathon that only made the night even more depressing because Clarke didn’t even like _Friends_.  It was just something to take her mind off the way Bellamy’s eyes when he said he wasn’t sure he could ever be with her.

 

She grabbed her purse from the table near the door and opened it, only to find Bellamy standing in front of her, holding a small wrapped present in his left hand.  “You’re not Chinese,” she said dully, because her brain seemed to be two steps behind.

 

Bellamy raised his eyebrows.  “That’s racist,” he deadpanned.

 

“No, I mean— I thought you were the delivery.  I ordered Chinese.  I wasn’t being racist,” she protested, the beginnings of a smile on her lips.

 

Bellamy pushed past her into her apartment.  “Says the racist white girl,” he teased.  He looked around like he was going to say something, but whatever it was died on his lips when his eyes locked onto hers.  Without warning he dropped the present on her table and gathered her into his arms, pressing their foreheads together.  “We should talk,” he said, seemingly struggling to get the words out.  His hands cupped her face and their breath mingled as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

 

“Probably,” she agreed but then they were kissing instead, their movements so coordinated Clarke could have sworn they’d been kissing each other for decades.  He tipped his head to the side and she opened her mouth, welcoming his tongue with hers and they stumbled backward until she bumped into the kitchen table.  She’d lost the blanket somewhere along the way and Bellamy’s jacket was peeled down to his elbows, trapping his arms until he let go of her long enough to pull free.  Clarke pushed herself up to sit on the table and Bellamy fit himself between her thighs, raising her sweatshirt over her head and then kissing down the side of her neck to her collarbone, his mouth hot and wet.  She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt until he took pity on her and did them himself.  She giggled and he captured her lips with his again even as he smiled, and when she tore herself away to drag her mouth across his pecs he groaned low and guttural in her ear.  She worried his nipple with her teeth and he shoved his hand under her tank top, raising it until her breasts were also bare, and then pressed his hand against her back.  She followed his lead and arched into him, letting her head drop back while his hands started massaging her breasts.  His motions were rough in a way that roused an almost painful ache between her thighs, and when he pinched her left nipple between his thumb and forefinger she nearly cried out with want.

 

She did cry out when his mouth engulfed her nipple and rubbed her center along the bulge in his jeans.  Her fingers traveled the length of his spine, dancing across the divots, and then curled into the hair at the nape of his neck.  She tugged his head up to kiss her again, needing his mouth on hers to ground her.  She felt like she was flying and falling at the same time, her skin humming under his touch.  He nipped playfully at her lower lip and drew back just enough to look at her.  “Condoms?” he asked, a blush spreading down his chest.

 

“My bedroom.  Left nightstand.”  He kissed her swiftly and practically sprinted down the hall, returning with a long chain of condoms that made her laugh out loud.

 

“You’re certainly optimistic,” she giggled.

 

Bellamy kissed her and her laughter died in her throat, replaced once again with a burning need.  “You could say that,” he said.  He urged her backwards until she was laying flat on the table, her tank top still pushed up over her breasts, and hooked his fingers into her leggings and underwear.  He pulled them down in a practiced movement that reminded her of three months ago, but once they were gone he curved his body over her and tongued at the soft underside of her breast, slowly teasing her slit with one long finger.

 

Clarke moaned and spread her legs wider but he continued to just barely touch her, so lightly it drove her mad.  His tongue flickered across her nipple and his finger feathered her folds, and just when she was about to lose her fucking mind he plunged his finger deep inside of her, biting down on her breast at the same time.  She keened and her legs jerked up, her body no longer under her control.  She was writhing by the time his thumb came to rest against her clit and he let her fuck herself on his hand, her hips moving erratically in a desperate chase.  He started moving his hand in earnest and brought his mouth up to kiss her again, the softness of his lips in stark contrast to the strength of his fingers.  He moved in and out of her, ratcheting her cries higher and higher until she ceased to be Clarke and became nothing more than a black hole of need, and when she finally came the pleasure that ripped through her was almost brutal.

 

Her thighs and inner walls were still twitching as she sloppily undid his buckle and pushed his jeans and boxers down his hips.  Bellamy handled the condom (which was good because her fine motor control seemed to have fled) and pulled her to the very edge of the table before he thrusted into her.  Clarke managed to curl her legs around his waist and held on, placing open mouthed kisses on his shoulder as he fucked her so hard her breasts were bouncing against her chest.  She leaned back on her palms and his eyes dropped to where they were joined, alternating between watching himself enter her and her breasts as they shook with the force of his thrusts.  Clarke brought her index finger to her still sensitive clit and his gaze snapped back to her face.  With just a few strokes she was coming again, shuddering around his hard cock for several moments before he lost all control and came, pulsing into the condom.

 

They were still staring at each other in awe when three sharp knocks sounded behind them.  Bellamy jumped into action first, pulling out of her and grabbing a napkin from the counter to ball up with with condom.  “Just a second,” he called, tucking himself away and buttoning his jeans.  He answered the door without his shirt on and kept it mostly closed to shield Clarke as she straightened her tank top and hunted for her underwear.  He used the money from her purse to pay the delivery man and she was completely dressed by the time he closed the door behind him.

 

For a split second they just stared at each other and then burst into laughter.  Clarke skipped across the hardwood floor and flung herself into his arms, heedless of the bag of Chinese food he now had clutched in his fist.  “We really should talk,” he mumbled against her lips.

 

Clarke silenced him with a kiss.  “We should,” she eventually agreed.  “But then the food will get cold.”

 

Bellamy let out a bark of laughter and stepped back.  “Fine.  Let’s eat,” he said, and headed toward her couch.  

 

“What do you mean, let’s?” she said, snagging the blanket from the floor.  “I ordered that food for me and me alone.”

 

“You ordered enough food for at least three people and we both know it,” Bellamy countered.  He set it on her coffee table and left the bag closed.  “Let me guess— the broccoli stir fry, fried rice, orange chicken, and an order of egg rolls?”

 

“Fuck you,” she laughed.  “And don’t you dare eat more than half the egg rolls.”  She sat down cross-legged on the couch and he took the spot next to her, handing her the broccoli stir fry without asking what she wanted first and helping himself to the orange chicken.  They’d spent countless nights doing exactly this— eating take out and talking on her couch— and Clarke wondered why she’d spent so long denying what was right in front of her.  It felt so right, so natural, it almost didn’t seem possible.  “So...we’re doing this, aren’t we?” she asked around a mouthful of broccoli and rice.

 

“If you want to,” Bellamy said, staring a little too intently into his carton.

 

“Hey.  Look at me,” she ordered.  “I want this, and I assume you do to?”

 

Bellamy met her gaze and she wondered if she would ever get over how vulnerable he looked in that moment.  “I do.”

 

“I’m not— I’m not going anywhere this time.  I promise.”

 

He nodded slowly.  “I’m sorry I pushed so hard before.  I knew you weren’t ready— “ Clarke opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “-- no, let me finish.  I knew you weren’t ready for anything so soon after her and I shouldn’t have punished you for that.”

 

Clarke set down her carton and climbed into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips.  She took his face in her hands and placed a gentle kiss on his still-swollen lips.  “That was my fault too, okay?  But— god, Bellamy.  I love you.  I’ve loved you for so long I don’t even know when it started.  I’m just sorry it took us so long to make it here.”

 

Bellamy gave her a half smile and tucked a curl behind her ear.  “I’m sorry too, but you’re wrong.  We both know when it started, don’t we?”

 

Clarke thought back to the first night she lost herself in him and kissed him again.  “Fine.  I’ve loved you for two years,” she conceded.  “And I bet you that you couldn’t sleep with more people in one year than me because I didn’t want to admit it.”

 

“And I agreed to that stupid bet for the same stupid reason,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose.  “But I would also like to note that for the record, I won.”

 

Clarke scoffed and climbed off of him.  “I hate you,” she grumbled.

 

“I know,” Bellamy said cheerfully.  “Would your Christmas present help?”

 

“Maybe,” she pouted, and Bellamy pushed himself up from the couch to grab the present from where it had laid, forgotten, since he kissed her.  

 

It was small and square and sat entirely too heavy in her hands when she accepted it from him.  She raised an eyebrow and loosened the tape on one side.  “This doesn’t feel like a book,” she said.

 

“That’s because it isn’t.” Her eyes bugged out and Bellamy laughed.  “It’s also not an engagement ring, because I’m not fucking insane.”

 

“I never said I thought it was,” she muttered and gave up on carefully unwrapping it.  She tore the dark red paper into pieces and opened the white cardboard box to reveal...something.

 

It was wood, lovingly made— that much was clear— with a square platform on the bottom with an oval on top.  It’s varnish shone in the light and Clarke smiled, bemused.  “It’s lovely,” she said sincerely, even though she had no goddamn idea what it was.

 

Bellamy grinned and plucked it from her fingers.  “Here.  Let me show you,” he said, standing and walking over to the shelf on her bookcase where her father’s watch sat.  She used to wear it until the night it fell off her wrist and she and Bellamy spent three hours scouring bars and city sidewalks in a desperate search for it.  Once he found it tucked into a booth at Grounder’s she’d sworn she would never risk losing it again.  Bellamy slipped the watch over the oval and set it down carefully because he knew how precious that watch was to her.  

 

She banded her arm around his back and tucked her head into his side.  “Thanks,” she said, her throat tight with emotion.

 

“Lincoln made it.  Well, I asked him for it and he made it,” Bellamy clarified.  “Thought your dad’s watch deserved something special.”

 

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, and Bellamy caught her chin and tipped her face up to his.  

 

“I love you, Clarke Griffin.  And I’m sorry it took us all of this bullshit to get here, but I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Clarke rolled onto her toes so she could kiss him again, the knowledge that she could do this whenever she wanted filling her chest and making her heart ache with joy.  “I love you too, Bellamy Blake.”

  


***

_January 1st, 2016_

_Clarke: 1   Bellamy: 2_

  


The Rules:

 

Each orgasm is worth one point.

 

Masturbation does not count.

 

Person who gives the most orgasms by 12/31/16 wins $400 and undying respect of the loser.

 

_Clarke Griffin                       Bellamy Blake_

_12/31/15                             12/31/15_

  


**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to bleedtoloveher and kay-em-gee for their beta work.


End file.
